me like an eye full of a bright but sorrowful consciousness gazing calmly, with deep earnestness, down upon earth; as if it knew of the sin and the sorrow of earth. That bright star stood above the beautiful island like its clear, accusing conscience.
There had been for the last two days cold weather with rain in torrents, but the morning was bright and beautiful, and I wished after breakfast to visit the bishop's garden, which lies only a few minutes walk from our Serro. Mrs. S. said, “you will not be able to get there; you will stick fast in the mud after all this rain.”
I would not believe her, and persisted in going. But she was right. I actually could not get along; at every step my feet stuck fast in the thick mud, the quality of which I had never before had any conception of. I was obliged to return, and wait till the sun had dried the earth, which it is not very long in doing. These torrents of rain which have met me in Cuba, and which are a little inconvenient to me are, it is said, the parting salutations of the rainy season, which is now just at an end, and which gives place to the dry season, la secca, which extends from the present time into May. Both yesterday and to-day there has been unremitting sunshine, so that I have to-day been to the bishop's garden; and wandering under palms, bamboos, and many kinds of beautiful tropical trees, among splendid unusual flowers and butterflies, have celebrated alone the most glorious morning, a spirit of thanksgiving among the silent spirits of nature. Ah! when the Creator allows us here on earth to behold such beauty, allows us to experience such joy—what treasures of His kingdom has He not in store for His children, risen again and enfranchised from dust, on the other side the grave!
The beauty of these trees and flowers, and of this air, give me a foretaste of a glory of creation, a fullness of existence in the consciousness of natural life, which
